


when the truth hunts you down

by rainbowshoes



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon-Typical Violence, Good Intentions, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, implied happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes
Summary: for the WinterhawkWonderland2019 exchangemy prompt was:Bucky is Clint's soulmate. Clint isn't Bucky's... Or is he?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 12
Kudos: 143
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland





	when the truth hunts you down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aranfangirl92](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aranfangirl92).



> for
> 
> [@ararnfangirl92](https://aranfangirl92.tumblr.com/)

When the name had appeared on Clint's thigh at thirteen and a half, he'd been both excited to see it and overwhelmingly disappointed. He hadn't reacted the way he remembered the kids had done at his last school - he didn't show off his soul mate's name, didn't brag, didn't even attempt to find them. 

_ James Buchanan Barnes _ was dead. Everyone knew that. 

Sure, Clint figured it was possible for someone else to have that name, but he wasn't going to go looking for anyone regardless. He had to stay with Barney at the circus. He owed them too much to run off.

It was a pretty big deal, usually, for a kid to find out they were a lucky one - a person with a soul mate meant only for them. Only about a tenth of the population had soul mates. Less than half a percent had more than one name printed like ink somewhere on their body. Most of the time, when someone found out they had a soul mate, they got excited about it and showed off to everyone they knew. Bringing together soul mates was a good thing - or so Clint had been told - and those who helped usually wound up finding their true love along the way. Or something like that. He hadn't heard any of the stories in a while, not since he and Barney ran away from the last foster house and joined the circus. 

It didn't matter anyway. His soul mate was a dead guy. He hadn't known that was possible, but it didn't surprise him. Their whole family was cursed or something. 

Life continued as normal, for the most part. He was careful about keeping the mark hidden. It was printed on the outside of his right thigh, the J in James up by his hip and the N in Buchanan halfway to his knee. Barnes was on a second line, and Clint wondered why his soulmate had to have such a long fucking name. It was hard to hide, but for years, no one knew what the name on his thigh read, if they knew he had a name there at all. 

It wasn't until Barney and Trickshot had nearly killed him, had left him for dead, had pinned everything on him, that anyone else knew for certain was the name was. The nurses in the hospital knew, and later, Phil Coulson from SHIELD knew. 

Natasha figured it out soon after they began to work together, but she didn't pester him about the name. She never mentioned it at all. And Clint was grateful. 

But then the Avengers happened. Then Loki and the aliens happened. 

And Natasha had worked with Steve for a while, leaving Clint behind to recover from having his head fucked with. He hadn’t done well being alone, but he’d never complained, either. 

When she'd come back, she'd given him a copy of a file. She hadn't said a word, but Clint knew even before opening it - she knew his soul mate. That had hurt worse than he’d expected, considering he hadn’t given serious thought to the mythical person that was supposed to love him despite how fucked up he was.

"Why now?" Clint asked, looking up from the picture paperclipped to the front of the file. It was James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes - legendary sniper and war hero. The picture was decades old - taken in the forties. But there was another picture, one inside the file, and that one made Clint feel inexplicably cold despite the spring heat.

"Because he's alive," Natasha said grimly, "and he's the Winter Soldier." 

And, well, that just fucking figured. 

"You knew him," Clint said without inflection. She nodded once. "Did he have a name?" He looked away from her and studied the picture inside the file, instead. Where the fuck had this guy been that he was fucking - what, cryogenically frozen? Clint didn’t know of anyone who’d actually lived through that shit. He wondered if Barnes had seen Clint’s name on his body and thought - who’s this person, what are they like? Despite seeing all of Barnes’ naked chest, he didn’t see a name. Only a metal arm.

"Not that I ever saw," she said quietly - and that was good enough for Clint. He gave her the file and walked away. It just figured that he had a soul mate who had not matched with him in return. He wasn’t going to waste his time on it anymore. Why bother? 

Less than half of a  _ half  _ of a percent matched with a soul mate who wasn't theirs in return. He'd never heard of a single happy ending for one of those people. And, well, that just fucking figured.

* * *

_ Three years later _

"Still feels like something's missing," Bucky said, staring down at the shiny new arm Tony had built for him and had begun to wire to his shoulder. He couldn't curl the fingers yet, but he was starting to feel the arm - like pins and needles. Not painful, just annoying. 

Tony hummed and took the small screwdriver out of his mouth and used it to do something to the inside of Bucky's shoulder joint where the arm connected to his body. "I dunno, Bucko, you're still a day late and a dollar short on most of your memories." He glanced up at Bucky and shrugged. "Could be phantom limb?"

"It's not like that," Bucky said, shaking his head. He traced his flesh fingers over the arm again. Always the inside of the bicep. "It's like… there's supposed to be more."

"Like a name?" Tony asked. It was an innocent enough question, really. A lot of people asked about soul mates, these days. More than had asked in Bucky's time, that was for sure. Problem was, Bucky couldn't remember ever having a soul mate - and there was no mark anywhere on his body to suggest he might have had one. Even Steve didn't know, and that seemed surprising to damn near anyone Steve told. 

(Bucky never told anyone he couldn’t remember - he was missing enough memories, and there wasn’t a name on him anymore, anyway, so that made it all null and void, right? He wasn’t sure about that, not really, but he didn’t deserve a soul mate anyway, not after all the shit he’d done.)

It had been taboo, back when Bucky had grown up, for a man to be with another man - even if they were soul mates. It was supposed to be strictly platonic, but even then people would still talk. If Bucky  _ had  _ had a soul mate, and it had been a man's name, he wouldn't have told anyone and would have had to hide it to protect both himself and his potential soul mate. Steve had explained all that, and it made sense. He’d had a handful of memories from his time before the War that he wouldn’t  _ dare _ mention to Steve, even now. 

Then again, Steve didn't have a name on his skin. Maybe Bucky had hid it, if he had one at all, to spare Steve's feelings. That felt like something he’d have done.

He huffed, annoyed at himself, and looked away from the arm. "I dunno," he said, remembering Tony had said something almost a full minute ago. 

"Well, you said you didn't want the star," Tony said, tapping the curve of the upper arm with his screwdriver. "I can always add it later if you change your mind." 

"No," Bucky said immediately. "Not the star." It had showed he belonged to the Russian faction of HYDRA, and he didn't want that reminder. "If I figure it out, I'll tell you."

"Sure," Tony said, accepting that easily. He shoved the screwdriver back in his mouth and hefted the bulk of the arm up to Bucky's shoulder joint before flipping a few temporary latches to hold it in place while he fucked with the rest. He spat the screwdriver back into his palm and began to use it. 

"You're gonna make yourself sick sticking that thing in your mouth," Bucky muttered. 

Tony looked up at him and winked. "Never got sick sticking other things in my mouth." Bucky rolled his eyes and Tony cackled. "No, seriously, JARVIS has the bots clean all my tools pretty regularly, so it's fine." 

Steve thought it should make Bucky uncomfortable, Tony saying things like that, the way it made  _ him  _ feel uncomfortable. Bucky just thought Tony was kind of dumb, sometimes, especially for someone who was supposed to be so smart. Sometimes - though rarely - his dirty jokes were actually funny.

"JARVIS should not do that a few times and let you learn your lesson the hard way."

"I am afraid Mister Stark will never learn to not put foreign objects in his mouth," JARVIS snarked with his ever-polite tone. 

Bucky and Tony both chuckled at that. Bucky was just glad Tony didn't treat him like some delicate piece of china the way Steve tried to do sometimes. No one else tried to be "sensitive" around him and avoid mentioning the things he'd done or missed. He liked it so much better that way. He was catching up as fast as he could with pop-culture shit, but if he missed a reference, all he had to do was ask and someone usually took the time to show him the original piece or explain it to him. He was still struggling with some of the  _ memes  _ and other modern lingo, but he figured he was doing pretty good for having missed almost seventy years of his own life and having scrambled eggs for brains. 

He and Tony spent the next forty-five minutes debating conspiracy theories. Bucky's favorite was insisting the moon landing was faked. Tony did not agree and got very vocal about it. Apparently, Buzz Aldrin was a close friend. Bucky just thought it was funny to get Tony all worked up over something trivial. Nat wouldn't do it, Steve always looked like a kicked puppy when Bucky disagreed with him, and Bruce was a little dangerous to try to play this game with. Bucky couldn't relate to Thor enough, other than neither of them understanding references to certain things, and he never really saw Clint outside of the targeting range. He and Clint communicated mostly through trying to out-shoot the other. It helped Bucky not to feel so fucking guilty about having a gun in his hands - even though he felt like he'd go insane or die without one sometimes - and it was kind of fun. He'd never met anyone who could shoot as well as he did, but Clint kept up shot-for-shot - with a bow and arrows. He just wished he could pin the guy down for a conversation every once in a while, but Clint proved to be even more reclusive than he was. 

Once Tony was finished with Bucky's arm, he took off the temporary clamps and kicked him out of his workshop, insisting he needed to get back to his next Iron Man armor iteration. He mumbled a lot of things Bucky didn't follow about nanobots and trying to fuck with the laws of physics, so Bucky left him to it. If Tony wanted to break the universe he could damn well do it alone. Bucky would  _ not  _ take the blame for that one. (He already took the blame for Kennedy, and he wasn’t positive that had been him, anyway.)

He found Natasha in the hall beside the elevator, and he knew she'd been waiting for him. He didn't do anything more than nod to her as he stepped into the elevator. She followed him in and rested her back against one of the walls, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"My floor, please, JARVIS," Bucky said. 

"Certainly," JARVIS responded as the doors closed and the elevator car began to move. 

Natasha waited until she'd followed Bucky into his room before she bothered to speak. "If I knew something about a friend, that this friend was suffering, should I do all I can to rectify the situation? Even if they do not want my help?"

"If this is about Steve's dating life -" Bucky began, even though he knew it wasn't. He had to check. He was so damn tired of hearing about Steve’s dating life from everyone - including Steve. 

"It isn't," Natasha said, and she wasn't even exasperated with Bucky for bringing it up. "It is… something more serious." That pinged Bucky’s curiosity, but also his wariness. He didn’t like to get involved in anything like that. It hurt too much, knowing he could never deserve that sort of happiness. 

He grabbed a bottle of water from his fridge and took a sip before considering Natasha more closely. "I'd be careful. Sometimes it's better to leave things like that alone. You might not be able to anticipate the consequences. Do you think your friend will forgive you?”

"I'm fairly certain, in this particular case," she said. Though, Bucky noticed, she didn't  _ look _ certain. Her shoulders were hunched just a little, giving her the appearance of huddling in on herself. He knew she could be faking it, but he didn't think she was. He had very few memories of his time in the Red Room, but the way Natasha was standing now seemed familiar in a distant sort of way. 

"What's going on?" Bucky asked, finally. He usually didn't mind playing Natasha's guessing games. She was good at dropping just enough hints for Bucky to figure out what she meant on his own. It was great exercise for his brain and helped test his memory. Sometimes, though, he wanted a direct answer. 

She pressed her lips into a firm line, and Bucky knew he'd have to work for some of the answer. He walked over to the couch and threw himself on it, and Natasha perched in the armchair nearby. He considered what she'd already said. 

"This friend… it's Clint." Had to be, if it wasn’t about Steve. Nat would have come out and said it if it had been Tony - and Thor and Bruce weren’t really the type for whatever situation Natasha was hinting at. She nodded once. "And whatever it is, it's not physically hurting him. Mentally? Emotionally? I figure he's got plenty of issues because of the whole Loki thing I've heard about, but I don't think that's the problem, either, otherwise you'd have just said something." Or, he hoped she would have. He didn't like it when people tried to dance around what he went through. It just  _ was _ , and they all had to face it head-on. He figured Clint probably felt the same way: if it was important enough for them to bring it up, just fucking say it and don’t make him work for their concern or blame or whatever it was that time.

"It is… indirectly related to what Loki did to him," Natasha admitted. She fiddled with one of her fingernails for a moment. "I cannot tell you." Then she sighed and stood. "I'll see what I can do from another angle." 

"Just, you know, try to make sure no one gets hurt in the crossfire? Including you. Meddling can be dangerous." 

She gave him a very small smile. "Yes, I know. But… I think this is well worth it." Bucky could only nod to her, and then she left his room without another word. 

He was tired after sitting in Tony's workshop for hours and then having to do a battery of tests on the new arm. He tossed his flesh arm over his eyes and tilted his head back just a little bit more. He could nap, he figured. 

It wasn't like he slept much at night when the terrors flooded his unconscious mind and reminded him of all the hell he'd brought to Earth.

* * *

Natasha stood in front of Stephen Strange, her face blank to reveal absolutely nothing about herself. She'd just finished explaining what she wanted from him and why. Strange wasn't looking at her at all, but rather seemed very introspective. 

"Will you do it?" she asked. 

He held up a hand for silence, and she clenched her teeth. She knew she was asking for Strange's help, but there was a part of her that always rebelled against being told what to do. It was harder to silence herself when it came to little things like this. Then again, she'd never been all that adept at following orders. She tended more toward malicious compliance than true obedience. Coulson and Fury had known how she operated. They'd always asked if she wanted to take a job, first, and only after she'd said yes did she consent to following their orders - and even then, only to a point. 

Perhaps that was why, now, she didn't feel guilty for betraying Clint. He’d  _ demanded  _ that she drop the subject, and how could she possibly do that?

"I will," Strange finally said with a nod. "It… will prove beneficial, in the future, to do this for you now." He smirked at her. "You'll owe me one." 

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn't imagine what someone like Strange might want from her in the future, but it was probably help stealing a dusty old tome or something similar. Even if it was something more serious, she’d do it without question - it was worth it, for Clint. 

"It will take some doing to get the timing right. Allow me to do some research. I'll contact you when we can begin." 

She nodded and turned on her heel to leave. Strange didn't offer a farewell, either, and some of Natasha's ire eased a little. 

She might not like Strange much - he was an even smarmier version of Tony, and she only liked Tony thanks to years of exposure - but she was glad he wasn't enough of an asshole to shout his goodbye after her, or worse, shout a goodbye for her. 

She didn't like saying goodbye. It always felt too permanent, somehow. She refused to acknowledge anyone's farewells, these days. 

There was still a part of her that was worried. What if they never forgave her? What if she was ruining things for them rather than fixing them? 

She had to stick to her decision, though. It was the only way. They deserved to know the truth. 

They deserved to be happy. 

She'd never met anyone who deserved so much to be happy.

* * *

Clint wiped sweat off his forehead with his forearm and smirked over at Bucky. They’d wound up on the range in the basement of the tower at the same time again. Clint was pretty sure they never did it on purpose, it just happened. Usually about once a week, but sometimes more, especially when Clint had been injured and was working to get back into shape. That was the case now - his shoulder had been busted up the last time he'd gone out with the others - and today was the second day this week they'd wound up on the range at the same time. 

Just like last time, Bucky's shirt got caught in the plates on his arm, tearing it bit by bit until Bucky got fed up with it. Also just like last time, he finally yanked it over his head. 

The part that was different was Bucky not wearing a wife beater under his shirt. Last time, he'd just gotten done with Tony, and that had explained the layers. This time, Clint was treated to the view of all Bucky's muscles and scars - what seemed like miles of skin suddenly on display. 

He wasn't ashamed to admit that his mouth went a little bit dry. But then Bucky turned and Clint saw his back, and time seemed to stop for a moment. He could feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears as he stared, open-mouthed.

Between Bucky's shoulder blades, printed in what looked like black ink, was  _ Clinton Francis Barton _ . 

And that? Clint couldn't deal with that. Not today, and maybe not ever. He jerked around and slung his bow over his arm, then marched away from the firing lane he'd been in. He needed to leave, couldn't face whatever was going on with Bucky. 

"Clint?" The question was a little startled and a little timid, and something in Clint's chest twisted up inside him and yanked hard. He didn't want Bucky to feel guilty - he knew from stories from Natasha that Bucky blamed himself for damn near everything that went wrong when he was around. And sure, sometimes he was only joking, but not often enough for Clint to brush this to the side and assume Bucky wouldn't take it personally.

"It's fine," he said. His voice was clipped and he didn't stop walking away, but at least he'd said it. "My uh, my shoulder hurts." And then he was through the doors into the armory. He practically threw his bow and his quiver into the special locker Tony had designed for them, and then he nearly ran to the elevator. 

His chest burned. It didn't really feel like he was getting enough air in his lungs. He put his back to the elevator wall and slid down it, one hand pressed hard to his chest, as the elevator made its slow ascent. 

What the fuck was going on? He'd caught glimpses of Bucky before, shirtless or wrapped only in a towel as they moved past each other in the locker room attached to the range and gym. He  _ knew  _ that mark hadn't been there before. So what the fuck? How did it get there - and when? What kind of game was Bucky trying to play? 

His thoughts spiraled out of control, creating more and more unbelievable scenarios until the elevator came to a stop and Natasha was there to help scoop him off the floor and get him to his apartment on their shared floor. It took more time and a lot of Natasha coaxing Clint through breathing exercises to get him to calm down. When he was finally able to explain what the problem was, he was suddenly uncertain that he should mention it at all. 

He chewed on his lip and picked at the fraying corner of an old purple fleece blanket Natasha had gotten for him years ago. Finally, he decided on what he figured was a safe question - safer than anything else he could think of, anyway. "Is it possible for the name of a soul mate to just… appear. You know, after the whole puberty thing." 

Natasha blinked at him. "I'm not certain. That really is more of a question for Google, I think." But she wasn't denying it, and Clint knew Nat knew way more about soul mates than she let on. He was pretty sure it had something to do with the Red Room, so he never asked, but still - she knew, and she wasn't saying. She'd been the one to tell Clint Bucky didn't have a name inked into his skin, though. She  _ knew _ it, from before. 

"If I asked you to do something kinda weird…" Clint trailed off, uncertain. 

"Anything," Nat said with a small, affectionate smile on her face. "You can always ask me." Clint felt a small piece of himself relax at that. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Try to get a picture of Bucky's back. Without a shirt. Candid, you know?" He didn't know why Bucky or anyone else would try to fuck with him about Bucky having his name on his back, but he had to make sure it was  _ real _ . He didn't think he’d been hallucinating, but it helped to have confirmation from someone else. Nat could provide the confirmation, and he knew that when she saw his name inked into Bucky's skin that she'd understand what was going on in Clint's head. She always did. 

She blinked a few times at the odd request, then she nodded. "Okay. Do you need it by a certain time?" Clint shook his head. "Give me a few days. A week at the most." She gave him another tiny smile. "Didn't know you were a vouyer." 

Clint rolled his eyes. "You know I'm not." If anything, he was an exhibitionist, and Natasha knew it. But he didn't mention that. It wasn't the point. "Besides, that's creepy without consent."

"True," Natasha agreed mildly. She ran her fingers through Clint's hair again and again, and that did more to calm him than just about anything else. "I'll go make us some tea." She gave his head a light pat before standing and making her way over to the kitchenette.

As Clint watched her movements, he wondered how his name could have suddenly appeared on Bucky's back. It didn't make any sense. Being an Avenger meant seeing things that didn't make sense almost on a daily basis, but this felt different. More personal. He wasn't sure what to make of the situation at all, so he did what he usually did - he put it to the side and tried to ignore it.

* * *

The Avengers didn’t get called out all that often, Bucky had found. But if the situation was bad enough to warrant calling them, then it was pretty damn bad all around. Bucky knew there would be injuries and a lot of collateral damage. He’d accepted that after the second time he’d gone out with them. He tried not to delude himself too much about that sort of thing, after all. He’d only been out with the Avengers four times, but he’d never really been hurt. A few bruises here and there were all he’d ever experienced. He’d seen Clint get hurt on every single outing, Natasha with mild injuries often enough, and Tony usually wound up bruised and limping as well. Sam, on the two missions he’d been present, had also been hurt. 

For some reason, though, Bucky had never expected to really injure himself, not in any way that mattered. Bruises and small cuts healed fairly quickly, after all, and Steve and Natasha were always getting up and getting right back into the fight. 

But, this time, Bucky couldn’t get back up and get back into it.

He groaned, clenching his teeth so he didn’t scream as he grabbed his left shoulder. The metal arm was sparking and sending painful jolts of electricity through his shoulder and down his spine. He rolled to his side, struggling in his attempt to get to his feet. 

“Barnes!” Natasha shouted from her position down the street. He couldn’t respond, too busy trying to hold in a scream that desperately wanted to crawl out of his throat. “Barton, get to Barnes!” He heard the command over the comm in his ear.    


There was another loud sound, one he couldn’t comprehend, and then nothing but silence for a long, long moment. He knew it could only really be a few seconds, but it felt like years. He wasn’t sure if any sound was coming out of his mouth or not, though he hoped it wasn’t. He felt someone grabbing his right arm, trying to haul him up, but it was too much - too painful, and he squeezed his eyes shut rather than attempt to help. 

The world continued to move around and under him, but he kept his metal arm squeezed close to his chest and his eyes and mouth shut and just tried to breathe. It didn’t go as well as he hoped. By the time he was dropped onto a bench and the world was still, he gasped in a deep breath and cautiously opened his eyes. 

Clint was in front of him. He looked worried - more worried than Bucky had expected. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then gestured at Bucky’s arm in answer to Bucky’s silent, questioning expression. “Your arm, man.”

He didn’t want to look at it. But it hurt. He knew where the switch was to shut the whole thing off, but he wasn’t sure he could reach it on his own. He’d expressed that concern to Tony when he’d included it in the design, but Tony had just said he’d fix it later. Finally, he held his breath and looked down at it. It was a mess of bent metal plates and exposed wires and sparking electricity. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight. Sure, it wasn’t flesh and blood, but it was still  _ his arm _ . He looked back up at Clint. 

“Will you turn it off?” he asked. Clint had brought him to the quinjet, which was perfect. “There’s gotta be a toolkit around here somewhere. Need something kinda long and skinny to get in the arm.” 

“Sure, man,” Clint said, his mouth in a tense, worried line. He walked toward the wall where a lot of their extra gear, med kits, and various other supplies were usually kept. It didn’t take him long to find a long, skinny piece of metal with a flat end. Bucky had no idea what it was for, but he didn’t really care. As soon as Clint was back by his side, he forced himself to take another deep breath and focus beyond the pain. 

“At the top of my shoulder, between the fifth and six plates. There’s a switch on the inside.” He grimaced as the arm threw more sparks, singing his shirt and pants. His fingers twitched against the seat, wholly out of his control. Another white-hot bolt of pain shot through his back and head, and he had to cover his mouth with his flesh hand to prevent himself from screaming. He wanted to punch something. 

Clint didn’t hesitate or waste any time. He stepped in close to Bucky and one of his hands pressed to the top of his shoulder as he counted the metal divots between the plates. As soon as he found the correct spot, he slid the skinny metal rod between them. He had to wiggle it around to find the switch, and it felt sort of like someone was stabbing him in the shoulder, but Bucky kept his mouth shut tight. 

Finally, the tool struck the switch and flicked it off with an almost inaudible click. Bucky nearly sobbed as the overwhelming feedback of  _ painpainpain  _ ceased. He pitched forward, not quite able to help it, and Clint had to catch him so he didn’t fall on his face. He sagged against Clint’s chest. Every time Tony killed the arm in his ‘shop, Bucky had plenty of warning, and usually, Tony could shut it down in stages. This had been like ripping the power cord out of the wall, and he  _ ached _ from the total lack of feedback. 

“Woah,” Clint said, startled, but he had his arms wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky felt… inexplicably warm. It was below freezing outside, and there was snow everywhere, and he had been, frankly, fucking miserable. He didn’t much like the cold, these days. But Clint was warm - like Florida sunshine warm, not Algerian desert hot. “What - what happened, man? Are you okay?”

Bucky hummed softly, still utterly exhausted. He didn’t want to move, though he knew he should. He was pretty sure Clint didn’t really like him, and this was probably really uncomfortable for him. “Sorry. Just - killing the arm like that hurts, is all. Sorta - sorta comes close to what it feels like to get it ripped off.” He hadn’t felt that in a long, long time - but despite the holes in his memory, he definitely remembered that. He forced himself upright and away from Clint. It wasn’t fair to lean on him when Clint was so obviously opposed to it. 

“Jesus,” Clint muttered. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He slowly lowered his arms, at last letting go of Bucky entirely.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, lifting his right hand to rub at his left shoulder where the skin met metal. “It had to be disconnected. I’ll tell Tony to work on it for next time.” He offered Clint a shaky smile, but Clint didn’t smile back. He huffed a small laugh. “And he just finished fucking with this one the othe day. Guess that’s my luck.” 

They were silent for a moment. Bucky was too busy poking at his now-dead metal arm, wondering what the hell he was going to do about it. He’d need a sling, at least until Tony could remove it and fix it. He felt cold again, and a little miserable. It was odd - he didn’t know why he suddenly felt so bad, and he was pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with his arm. So, why?

“Man, you’re soaked,” Clint said quietly. “What did you do, roll around in the snow?”

Bucky grimaced. That’s what had happened, even if he hadn’t done it on purpose. “It’s fine. It won’t kill me.” Almost nothing could, after all, not these days. 

"Even supersoldiers can get hypothermia,” Clint argued - and, well, that was true enough. Bucky knew from personal experience, but apparently the other Avengers knew because of Steve. It didn’t surprise Bucky in the least that Steve had been stupid enough to get hypothermia. “Come on, you need to get out of those wet clothes.” Clint turned his back to Bucky and went back to the wall where all their gear and extra things were stored. He opened one of the compartments and grabbed a blanket, shaking it out and then tossing it into the bucket seat beside Bucky. 

Bucky sighed and began working on the buckles that held his weapons harness to his chest. It clattered into the seat behind him, guns and knives and other things still in their holsters. He yanked his shirt out of his waistband, untucking it before he attempted to do anything more. Doing things with only one hand had been difficult when he  _ didn’t _ have his metal arm attached as dead weight. With it, he felt frustrated at how helpless he was. 

“Here, let me help,” Clint murmured. He didn’t sound thrilled to be stuck there with Bucky, and Bucky didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to feel obligated to help someone he didn’t like all that much - and Bucky figured he deserved to be disliked. He’d done so much shit, after all. Even if he had always enjoyed the little bit of time he spent with Clint on the range, he figured it was understandable if Clint didn't feel the same. Even so, he came close again and helped Bucky get his shirt - some sort of elastic-kevlar blend thing Tony had invented - and over his head. He let it fall in a wet splat to the floor. 

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly. He bent down and began to unlace his boots - no sense keeping them on when his socks were soaked and freezing cold, too. Clint sucked in a sharp breath, and Bucky looked up at him. “What is it?”

“You - uh.” Clint coughed and made some sort of gesture with his hand that didn’t mean anything to Bucky. “You don’t know?” Clint’s voice was faint and uncertain, and Bucky sat up to frown at him. 

“Know about what?” he asked. He twisted to the side to try and look over his shoulder at his back, but he didn’t get halfway into the motion before his shoulder began to pull too hard at his skin and he had to stop. “What’s wrong with my back?” He didn’t think he’d been hurt, but it was possible he just hadn’t felt it. 

Clint made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, then he yanked his phone from his pocket and held it over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky heard the fake shutter sound as Clint took a picture, and a moment later, he held the phone in front of Bucky, showing him. 

Across his back, between his shoulder blades,  _ Clinton Francis Barton _ was written in black, almost like ink. He blinked rapidly in surprise, then looked up at Clint, eyes wide. “Your middle name is Francis?”

Clint stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You - you didn’t know?”

“No,” Bucky said. He looked down at the picture again and frowned. He knew that mark hadn’t been there a few days ago. He’d watched as Tony fucked with his arm, same as he always did, from all angles thanks to JARVIS and his cameras. It was the only thing that kept Bucky calm and relaxed enough to allow Tony to get near the arm at all. “How does that happen - a mark like that just showing up out of the blue?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Clint muttered, sounding almost bitter about it. “It’s not real, though. It can’t be, right? I mean - everyone knows how this shit works. They don’t just - show up like that.” He sounded upset, and Bucky frowned up at him as he kicked off his boots and grabbed the blanket from the seat beside him. He was still fucking cold, unfortunately. 

He thought back to Natasha and their cryptic conversation a few days ago - the same day Tony had been working on his arm, consequently. She’d wanted to do something to help Clint - and Bucky’s stomach sank into his feet. She couldn’t have - could she? 

“Do you -” Bucky swallowed hard. “Do you have my name?” Clint nodded wordlessly. “Oh.” He wondered where, though he wasn’t going to ask. He stared down at his metal arm, at the inside of his bicep where he’d always felt something was missing. He’d been complaining to Tony about that very thing, hadn’t he? “I think - I think I used to have a name. Here.” He traced his finger over the metal, but he couldn’t feel anything at all. “I don’t remember what it was, though. What it said.”

Clint snorted, and he still sounded upset. “It’s cool, man. It couldn’t have been mine, anyway, right? I wasn’t born then. Whatever. Anyway, I should get back.” He turned his back to Bucky again, but this time he was facing the ramp. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, frowning hard. “Clint -” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Tony and Steve will figure out what happened and make sure you can get back to normal.” He was gone, vanished through the back of the ‘jet before Bucky could respond at all. 

He sat, frowning, with the blanket over his shoulders to keep him warm - and he felt inexplicably as if someone had just ripped off his other arm, as well. 

* * *

"What's wrong?" 

Clint didn't look up from where he'd planted himself, face down, on his couch. He had the faded and frayed purple afghan Nat had given him years ago wrapped around him, and under it he wore only a pair of black plaid flannel pants. Ones with a small black widow hourglass on the hip. He was pretty sure the pants were meant for women, but he owned merch for all the Avengers, and Nat was no exception. He was warm, though, and that was what was important. 

Well. Physically warm. 

He felt like his insides had been scooped out with a melon baller or something equally banal and yet torturous. Bucky knew. Bucky knew Clint had his name on him. Clint had been dumb enough to fucking tell him. And it wasn’t going to solve a damn thing. Clint wasn’t that lucky. Bucky hadn’t reacted much at all, and well. That should have been what Clint was expecting, but he hadn’t. He’d hoped… for more, he guessed.

“Clint,” Natasha said, her voice quiet and gentle and so damn understanding. And Clint was bitterly angry at her, for just a moment. Why couldn’t it have been Natasha’s name inked into his hip? Why couldn’t she have had his name somewhere on her body? It was so fucking unfair. The one person  _ meant _ for Clint, the one person who should have loved him unconditionally - and Clint didn’t much care if it was platonic or romantic, as long as it was love - didn’t appear to care about him much at all. 

“He knows,” Clint said, his tone flat and morose. “I saw it on his back. Again. And he didn’t know it was there, but then I took a picture and showed him, and he didn’t.” Clint sucked in a quick breath. “He didn’t care.” 

“Tell me,” Natasha said gently. He felt her fingers in his hair - just about the only part of him that was exposed to the air - and he relaxed at the touch. She’d always managed that, somehow. And again, he wished she’d been his soul mate instead. It would have been easier. They knew each other so well, after all… 

“He said something about my middle name,” Clint said with a shrug. He didn’t know if Nat could see it or not, but he didn’t much care either way. “Then he asked if it was possible for a name to show up like that. And, I mean, it’s not. It can’t be. It’s never happened before, anyway - so why now? It’s gotta be fake. I said something like that. And then he asked if I had his name and I said yes.” Clint whispered the last line. Nat  _ knew _ , but that didn’t mean he’d ever told anyone. He hadn’t even told Phil, way back when. He’d never actually told anyone. Until Bucky. 

“What did he say?” Natasha asked, a bare hint of curiosity evident in her voice. Clint wondered why she should care, but he didn’t say that out loud. Nat didn’t take that sort of comment well, most of the time. 

“He just said he used to have a name on the inside of his left arm but that he couldn’t remember what it was,” Clint said. He had to pause for a moment and swallow hard and blink the tears that were trying to form out of his eyes. “I told him Steve and Tony could help him get back to normal and I left.”

“Oh, Clint,” Natasha said with a soft sigh. She lightly scratched along his scalp, and that felt nice. 

Clint squirmed closer to where she was sitting on the very edge of the couch and he snaked one arm around her waist and held her tight, hiding his face against her side. “I just wanted it to be real.”

“Who says it isn’t?” Natasha asked quietly. He stiffened, but then immediately shook his head in denial. 

“It can’t be. I wasn’t born when his mark would have shown up. It’s gotta be fake, somehow.” His voice cracked on the very last word, and he pressed his face even harder into Nat’s side. He didn’t want anyone to see him all bent out of shape like some tween in a telenovela. It was embarrassing. But it was also impossible to stop himself - he’d wanted this for so goddamn long, and now it was all falling apart right in front of him. 

Natasha squeezed the back of his neck, and it made him relax a little. “Who says it isn’t real?” she asked, again. “Bucky and Steve - and me, for that matter - we exist outside the normal timeline for this universe. Dr. Strange explained it once, but I don’t think you were conscious for most of it. Our timelines are skewed compared to those of the rest of the universe. It’s how Steve and Bucky and I and Bucky managed to reconnect after so many years apart. How Steve was able to affect Bucky so much. And why Bucky didn’t take his killshot when he had the opportunity with me. He might not have known us, then, might not have consciously remembered, but he still  _ knew _ us.” She tugged gently at Clint’s hair. “We don’t work the same as everyone else, so it is perfectly possible that Bucky has your name on him  _ and  _ that it’s real.” 

Clint didn’t respond. He wanted to believe that so badly. But he just couldn’t - could he? It didn’t work that way. Not for him. The Bartons were all cursed. It sucked, but that was the way of the universe, and Clint had accepted it. 

“What if I get Dr. Strange to prove it?” Natasha asked. 

Clint snorted. “How could he prove something like that? I mean, yeah, the guy has magic but I feel like soul mate-slash-romance-y bullshit is a little out of his wheelhouse.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It wouldn’t hurt if I asked and if he came and saw Bucky’s mark for himself, would it?” She was being unusually patient and gentle with him, and while Clint was grateful, he was also a little bit suspicious. He poked his head out from under the blanket and squinted up at her. She rolled her eyes and tugged on his hair again. “I’m going to go call Dr. Strange and speak with Bucky. Get dressed. I’m sure Bucky’s likely already gone to Steve, at least, so prepare yourself for everyone knowing you have his name as your mark.”

And, well, shit. Clint hadn’t thought about that. He probably should have, especially after telling Bucky to go ask Steve and Tony, but he was the resident dumbass for a reason. He sighed and tugged the blanket over his head once more. 

“Just leave me here, Nat,” he mumbled. “I don’t really want to know.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha said, and he could  _ feel _ her rolling her eyes. Fair enough. He deserved that. “I’ll be back in half an hour. You better be dressed or I’ll drag you out of this room as you are.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint sighed. He knew she would, but it didn’t make much of a difference to him. He was fine with going out to the common area in just the plaid sleep pants and his blanket. Maybe the bruises on his ribs and the shallow cut curving up around his hip weren’t great to look at, but the others could get the fuck over it. He didn’t feel like getting dressed. 

Nat bent over him, and he felt her kiss his hair. “You’ll be fine, you’ll see.” It sounded like a promise, and Clint didn’t trust promises. 

He wanted too much to believe her - to trust that she was right. And he just  _ knew _ it would come back to bite him in the ass somehow.

* * *

“It’s time,” Natasha said into her phone standing outside of Clint’s room. She didn’t have to worry about him overhearing her, at least. 

Strange sighed. “Very well.”

* * *

Bucky sat in Tony’s workshop with both Tony and Steve. Steve was hovering with his concerned face on, and Tony was  _ still  _ laughing. He was also detaching Bucky’s arm, so at least he was being useful. Bucky just felt quietly miserable. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking first at Steve and then glancing over at Tony.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” Steve said, chewing his bottom lip. “It wasn’t there before, like you said, and I’ve never heard of marks like that just - just  _ appearing _ out of nowhere.” He paused in his pacing and looked over at Bucky. “I mean. You are a hundred.”

Bucky flipped him off and Steve grinned, unrepentant. He loved reminding Bucky that he was already a hundred years old. (He still had a hard time wrapping his head around that, sometimes, but he also tried not to think about it too much - it tended to upset him.) Steve just liked to mock him, and, well. That was fairly standard. 

“We’ll call Strange as soon as I’m done with this,” Tony said, tapping Bucky’s arm with the skinny screwdriver in his hand. “I can’t believe you fucking broke it already.” He snorted quietly. “I need to find more vibranium. Maybe then it’ll last more than a week.”

“Good luck with that,” Bucky said dryly. He shook his head. “What good will Dr. Strange do? I didn’t think soul marks were his area of expertise.” 

“I’m sure he’ll know something,” Tony said breezily. “Or he’ll have something in one of those dusty ass books he’s got hidden away in his weird magic library.” Bucky almost smiled. He appreciated Tony’s distaste for all things magic-related. “Either way, he’ll have more information than any of us.” He paused for a moment, then laughed once, loud and quick. “I still can’t believe Bucky and Clint are soulmates. How did this even happen? It’s like some kind of universe-level shitpost.”

Bucky scowled at him, and Steve crossed his arms over his chest to give Tony the full force of his disappointed scowl. Tony just shrugged and bent over Bucky’s arm again. “I think it’s kinda nice,” Steve said, his tone genuine but his words halting and uncertain. “I mean. Both of you are snipers, sort of, and you guys have a lot in common.”   


“Do we?” Bucky asked. “I’ve never really had an actual conversation with the guy. Well, beyond the disaster earlier.”

“You were still hurt and all messed up because of your arm,” Steve insisted in his overly-eager, puppy-dog way. “Clint will forgive you for that if you just explain it to him.”

“When am I supposed to do that, huh?” Bucky asked, feeling bitter and irritated. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, Stevie, otherwise he wouldn’t have run off like he did earlier. He probably thinks I faked this somehow, and I don’t blame him for bein’ pissed off, okay? I’m not gonna go showin’ up at his door and to try to make him listen to me apologize for something that was outta my control and which I can’t change.” 

Steve held up both hands in surrender and took a step back. “Sure, okay, Buck. But - eventually, right? Don’t you guys meet up in the range to shoot a lot?”

“It’s never planned,” Bucky said with a sigh. He rested his elbow on the table and sat his chin on his fist. “I feel like shit about it, okay? I pretty much couldn’t have fucked that whole thing up worse unless I ran from him screaming.” 

They were all quiet after that. Bucky knew it was because they agreed with him but didn’t want to come out and say so. He’d ruined any chance he had with Clint - that much was clear. He’d accept that as fate’s way of making it clear just how wrong he and Clint really were for each other. 

It didn’t matter that he’d been trying to find a way to have a decent conversation with Clint for weeks now and had just chickened out every single time before he could get any words out of his mouth. He was forced to interact with Tony because of the arm, and he’d known Steve and Natasha from differing points of  _ before _ , so they already had common ground. Bruce and Thor weren’t really around enough, and so Bucky never had to try to get to know them. But he’d wanted to know Clint better. He’d wanted to badly. He was upset that he’d messed up everything between them without meaning to - or knowing how he’d managed it. 

He didn’t say anything else until after Tony had finished removing his arm, and even then it was just a quiet word of thanks. He and Steve headed up to the common area to grab something to eat - because Steve was pretty much always hungry - and maybe watch another movie. Bucky was sore and in a shit mood, and it wasn’t like he could go down to the range and shoot a bunch of shit, anyway. He needed both arms for that, unless he was using a handgun, and those just weren’t as satisfying.

By the time their snacks had been gathered in the living room, Bucky wasn’t so much angry as he was just plain sad. He wanted to go to Clint and apologize, at the very least, but he figured that would be unwelcome and a very bad idea. He didn’t want to hurt Clint even more. JARVIS had told them the statistics for a person having someone’s name as their mark and the other person not, and the odds weren’t in Clint’s favor. Bucky somehow felt like it was all his fault, as if there was something he could do to fix the situation. 

And he still wondered if Nat had had anything to do with this. If she had, he’d be extremely angry with her. Yeah, Clint deserved a soul mate, but if Bucky really wasn’t that person, how was it fair for her to do something like that?

Steve sat with the remote in his hand, but he was staring at the blank screen with a far-off look in his eyes. He looked to Bucky, a slight tilt to his head. “How do we know Clint’s name isn’t the one you had on your arm?”

Bucky blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Your mark. You had one on the inside of your arm. I never saw it, but I sort of knew you did.” He chewed on his bottom lip again. “Unless you remember the name?”

“No, I -” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t remember it.” He cupped his left shoulder with his right hand and sighed. “I’ve tried to remember, and it never comes to me. But Steve, that doesn’t make any sense. Like he said back on the quinjet, he wasn’t born yet. How would that have worked, huh?”

At that moment, yellow sparks formed in the air between them and the tv, and Strange walked through a sling portal with Natasha at his back, though she didn't go through the portal. “That’s the thing, you all exist outside of the normal time constraints of our universe. Don’t ask how, it all gets very complicated very quickly. But you are. It’s how the three of you manage to stay connected despite the decades that pass while you are apart. Natasha here has examples, if you need them, but I’d really rather get on with this. Wong and I are playing cards, and he cheats.”

Bucky frowned hard at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It is completely possible for Clint to be your soul mate,” Strange said, a little impatiently. “You exist outside of the normal time flow for this universe.” He raised his hands and made a few weird symbols appear that then flowed through Bucky, even if Bucky’s back was tense and he hated having anyone do magic on him. “The mark is real. It has merely… relocated.” 

“What the hell?” Steve asked, confused and a little bit unsettled. “How did that happen? And why now? I mean - if it was going to… move, I guess, wouldn’t we have heard of something like that happening before?”

At that moment, Natasha stepped off the elevator with Clint beside her. He was draped in an ugly purple blanket and appeared to be wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants. Bucky’s eyes snapped to him immediately. Clint was looking at him, also, but he was quick to look down at his feet, and Bucky didn’t blame him in the slightest. He felt horrible. 

“Clint,” he said quietly, “I’m -”

“Save it,” Clint muttered, waving him away. He appeared to force himself to look up, but he wasn’t looking at Bucky. His attention was on Strange. “So, what, Bucky’s mark just moved from one place to another? That seems fake.” 

Strange looked at Natasha, and both Bucky and Clint were quick to catch that fact. Natasha sighed and took a step away from Clint. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked between Clint and Bucky for a moment. “I asked him to move the mark.”

“What?” Bucky demanded, standing and knocking a plate of sliced fruit from his lap and onto the floor. 

“Nat?” Clint asked, his voice small and devastated. 

She sighed and rubbed her forehead with two fingers. “Bucky, you’ve always had Clint’s name on your arm. You don’t remember, but you told me once. I didn’t know who it was - not until I met Clint much later.” She looked at him and gave him a small, sad smile. “Half the reason I defected for you was because I knew my Yasha had your name on his arm, once upon a time.” Clint gaped at her, stunned and clearly upset, and Bucky wanted to hit her for it. She looked back at him. “How would you have known that name unless it was real? Back in the late fifties?” She shook her head and looked at the floor. “I knew Clint was hurting, and I only wanted to help. I thought Bucky and Clint might figure it out on their own, but Clint was determined not to mention it, and Bucky couldn’t remember that he  _ had _ a mark, much less whose name it was.”

“I merely moved it from where had once been to a new location so it would show once more,” Strange said, wholly unconcerned. He eyed Clint, then stared hard at Bucky. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes, it’s a problem,” Bucky hissed. He looked at Natasha. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” He knew how he sounded - small, a little broken, bitter. 

She met his eyes and he found only stolid resolution. “Would you have believed me?”

His shoulders slumped. “No,” he admitted, “probably not.”

“Exactly,” she said, not looking away. She faced Clint. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t think you would have believed me. I knew we needed proof. So I asked Strange if he could help.”

Clint was staring at her in disbelief. “Why?”

Her expression finally softened. She stepped close to him again and cupped his cheek with her palm. “Because you are the most important person in the world to me, and I wanted you to be happy.”

Clint said nothing. He looked over at Bucky, looked at Natasha one more time, then turned his back to them and walked away. 

Bucky rubbed the center of his chest with his hand. It felt cold and hollow and achy. At least now he knew why - even if he wasn’t exactly happy with how he’d found out. Steve was giving Natasha a truly epic Disappointed Face. Bucky ignored them, and Strange, and made his way to the elevator as well. He stared at his reflection in the silvered doors until the car appeared again, and then he went down to his room. 

He didn’t know what to do next, but he was pretty sure Clint didn’t want anything to do with him.

* * *

Clint couldn’t stay away from the range for long. He managed a pretty good sulk for about two days before he was too restless and jittery to do anything other than sling arrows at targets until his arms gave out. When he got down there, Bucky was already there. 

He was tempted to turn on his heel and go back upstairs and have JARVIS let him know when Bucky had cleared out, but he wouldn’t let himself be that big of a coward. 

Instead, he walked into the other room for his gear, got kitted out, and then took up his usual place two lanes down from Bucky. He did a pretty good job of ignoring his feelings about everything for the two days he’d sulked in his room, but despite how shooting usually cleared his mind, it was making him think this time instead. 

He’d always known Bucky Barnes was his soulmate. Bucky having his name in return didn’t change that, at least. What did it change? He didn’t have an answer for that. So why was he so bent out of shape over it? He guessed he was more upset about Natasha not telling him - lying to him, in a way. He’d always just  _ known _ he was alone - that he didn’t have a soul mate in return. It was how he’d lived his entire life, and he’d been mostly okay with that. But things had changed, and Natasha had  _ lied _ . 

She was right though. He never would have believed her if she’d told him. 

Well, whatever, he figured. Things weren’t really any different. Bucky knew now, sure, and they were supposed to have some kind of… bond. But Clint figured a lot of soul mates weren’t really so great for each other - or hated each other or something like that. So be it. He and Bucky didn’t actually have to do anything about having each other’s names seared onto their skin. 

It didn’t take long before Clint was paying attention to Bucky’s shots the way he usually did. He made a trick shot, and Bucky was quick to copy him - to the best of his ability, considering he was using a handgun instead of a bow and arrows or one of his usual rifles. Bucky shot a perfectly straight line through the center of his target, and Clint was quick to copy him. From then, it was a free-for-all, each of them attempting to outdo the other. Clint was winning, quite clearly, but he had to give it to Bucky - was doing fucking amazing considering he only had one arm. 

When Clint’s quiver was finally empty, he slid his bow over his shoulder and looked over at Bucky. “When is Stark gonna give you a new arm?”

“Soon as he can, I reckon,” Bucky said with a shrug. “He’s trying to get some kind of fancy metal or something so he can use that to make the arm. I’m not worried about it.” He looked at Clint, hesitated, and then asked, “You wanna go get coffee? Steve says the place in the lobby is really good.” 

Clint considered this. Did he want coffee? The answer was - literally always. Did he want to get coffee with Bucky? That one he wasn’t quite as sure about, but he could think of a reason why not. He looked down at himself. “Sure, but uh. Let me shower first.” 

Bucky smiled, and it felt like goddamn sunshine after a snowstorm. “Meet you in the common area in twenty?”

Clint nodded, and Bucky looked downright cheerful as he turned and headed for the armory. Clint followed, slower, but Bucky had already returned his handgun to its place and was headed to the elevator by the time Clint got there. As they passed one another, their shoulders brushed, and Clint felt warm and… like the hole that had always been in his chest ached just a little less. 

Sometimes, he hated the soul mate shit. But damn, it felt really nice when it wasn’t hurting. He smiled a little to himself as he put away his bow. 

Okay, so maybe things had been fucking terrible with the way they both found out about the whole being soul mates thing. 

But they weren’t quite so terrible now, and that was an improvement. Clint wouldn’t hold out any hope for things progressing beyond this cup of coffee, but - well. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, either. He hoped Bucky felt the same.

* * *

Turned out, Bucky did feel the same. 


End file.
